


One, Two, Three, Four! I declare a Prank war!

by Neutralchaos



Series: These are just terrible and I should not be left to my own devices. [4]
Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Crack, M/M, Prank Wars, do not fuck with Jack, he will end you, paint not being used for its intended purpose, small mentions of other characters, they really aren't in this enough for me to tag them
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-28
Updated: 2016-05-28
Packaged: 2018-07-10 19:59:16
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,760
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7004362
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Neutralchaos/pseuds/Neutralchaos
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In hindsight the last one MAY  have crossed a boundary or two. Of course the thought decides to cross Jack’s mind when  they’re both already standing in front of Pierce, both of them standing at a parade rest, with Winter standing off to side. Brock and the Asset are both covered in varying shades of paint, and Jack honestly can’t find enough fucks to give about the level of shit they’re in. Why? Brock, the shithead, started it. Jack gave him enough chance to just fucking give up, but nooooo, he had something to prove. So here they were, and depending on how pissed Pierce was about his precious Asset getting accidentally caught up in this shit-storm, they were either going to be, yelled at, put on probation, suspended, or shot. Jack was honestly hoping for any of Options a through c, D really was not how he wanted to go out. <br/>'Jack Rollins- dead because he let himself get pulled into Brock Rumlow’s orbit of stupidity.' He thought. 'Of course Shithead’s would more than likely read: Brock Rumlow- Dead because Jack Rollins throttled him before he was shot.' <br/>“Explain to me how this happened,” Pierce barked, his tone stating that their answer was going to determine how alive they would when they were finished here.</p>
            </blockquote>





	One, Two, Three, Four! I declare a Prank war!

**Author's Note:**

> STOP ENCOURAGING ME!   
> I can write these forever. I mean it.   
> Also... I like to think I'm funny.

             In hindsight the last one  _ MAY  _  have crossed a boundary or two. Of course the thought decides to cross Jack’s mind when  they’re both already standing in front of Pierce, both of them standing at a parade rest, with Winter standing off to side. Brock and the Asset are both covered in varying shades of paint, and Jack honestly can’t find enough fucks to give about the level of shit they’re in. Why? Brock, the shithead, started it. Jack gave him enough chance to just fucking give up, but nooooo, he had something to prove. So here they were, and depending on how pissed Pierce was about his  _ precious Asset _ getting accidentally caught up in this shit-storm, they were either going to be, yelled at, put on probation, suspended, or shot. Jack was honestly hoping for any of Options a through c, D really was not how he wanted to go out. 

_ Jack Rollins- dead because he let himself get pulled into Brock Rumlow’s orbit of stupidity. _ He thought.  _ Of course Shithead’s would more than likely read: Brock Rumlow- Dead because Jack Rollins throttled him before he was shot.  _

“Explain to me how this happened,” Pierce barked, his tone stating that their answer was going to determine how alive they would when they were finished here.

* * *

           It started innocently enough, Brock was a little pissed about something or other that Jack had said at work,(  _ Honestly Jack could not give enough fucks to remember _ ) regarding their relationship. So he very maturely decided to wait until Jack was using the bathroom, with his fucking pants around his ankles and tossed a can of febreze in with the trigger zip-tied down.  All Jack heard over this hiss of the fucking lilac scented hell, was Brock’s cackling retreating down the corridor at a brisk pace. And so, as Jack exited, now smelling like a fucking artificial orchard, he decided that, clearly Brock needed to be reminded who the hell he was messing with.

 

Jack managed to wait out the rest of week before he set his plan into motion. At the end of the day he told Brock that he would meet him back at his place later on. Brock naively chose to not to question it, thinking that the air freshener bomb incident had been forgotten, said that he would grab the booze and burgers on the way home and oh hey, did Jack want fries, onion rings, or a salad this time around. Jack while keeping his face as blank as he could, put his order in, and said that he wouldn’t be too long, he just had to finish something up real quick, before giving Brock a quick peck on his forehead to send him on his way. As soon as he made sure that Brock had gotten into his beat up car, Jack jimmied open the lock on Brock’s little office door, and got to work prying off the keys of the keyboard.

 

When Monday morning hit, Jack was in a, quite frankly, a fucking fantastic mood. It had decided to be shit weather most of the weekend, so him and Brock barely left the bedroom, and he was really fucking enjoying the not so subtle limp that plagued Brock. So as it was, he had almost forgotten all the trouble he gone through on Friday afternoon, until, from the direction of Brock’s office, came a garbled shout. 

“ Why, The fuck is there fucking green shit in my fucking keyboard!”

Jack let a small smirk grace his features, while the rest of team, taking note of the shouting and the expression on their S.I.C.’s face, decided that now would be a great time to ANYWHERE but right there and scattered in all directions, making half assed excuses. Jack ignored it for now, as he sauntered up to Brock’s door, while in the back of his head he was thinking up some brutal training regimes for the fucking cowards. Not bothering to knock, Jack strode in, took a look down at the offending object, and started to laugh. Over the weekend the grass seeds he had placed onto damp paper towel underneath the keys had sprouted up nicely. He could barely see the device through all the green. Brock’s face was priceless as he put two and two together, ranging from confused and pissed to confused and even more confused, to, finally realization and pissed. Jack didn’t give Brock enough time to yell at him, he had only come in to see the end result of his hard work and was not disappointed, so he turned around and walked out. He had to track down some scaredy-cats for some hard lessons.

 

Brock didn’t take long to retaliate, and honestly, an eight year old had more imagination. Jack opened the door to his locker, only to be met with an ear piercing sound. After the initial wince at the loud noise, Jack peered into the small space and spotted the airhorn. Carefully rigged with an elaborate design of tape and zipties, so it would go off as soon as the locker was opened, Jack almost had to hand it to Brock. But he knew that  _ someone  _ had enlisted the help of some poor tech to set this one up. Brock just didn’t have the knowledge to design this by himself. 

_ Alright, If this is how it’s gonna be…  _ Jack thought slamming the door shut, after ripping airhorn down, before he called out that he would be back in few minutes, he just had to go and run something up to Rumlow.

 

Jack was just finishing up throwing a couple of cocky new recruits onto the mats, when Brock burst into the gym, his phone grasped tightly in his clenched fists. Jack looked over at him with an eyebrow raised, and as slowly as he possibly could ( just to keep Brock waiting, more than anything), walked over to where his C.O. was standing. 

“What. The. Fuck.” Brock gritted out through clenched teeth, shoving the phone under Jack’s nose, so he could see the picture on the screen. Jack smiled, as he looked at the photo. There on the screen was the image of two glasses full of water, turned upside down on Brock’s desk, so there was no way to move them without the water spilling everywhere, with more than a few time sensitive reports surrounding them. Now more than likely, Brock had already tried to move the papers ( because he really wasn’t that big of an idiot) only to find them glued down onto the desk. 

“Problem, Princess?” Jack asked nonchalantly, as though he had no idea what was wrong with the picture. Brock simply narrowed his eyes, and spit out “ You asked for this.” Before snatching his phone out of Jack’s hands, turning on his ( slightly lifted a few extra inches) heel and stalking out of the training area.

 

From there, it went back and forth for a few weeks. Jack went to turn his windshield wipers on his truck, only to find them painting a rainbow onto the glass. Brock went to use the can, only to find what looked like a full roll of toilet paper actually a hollow tube with the words “Give up yet?” scrawled across a piece of cardboard hidden within it. Brock offered Jack some pringles, only for Jack to find out that Brock had licked the flavour off of every single last one of the chips.  Jack threw some KY jelly into Brock’s little bottle of hand sanitizer, and spent the rest of the day almost peeing his pants every time Brock went to grab ahold of something. Brock plastered newspaper on every surface of Jack’s kitchen, Because he “ Enjoyed reading the paper so much in the mornings.” So Brock found his Office, Entire house, and car plastered with pictures of his face and in assorted degrees of neon colours. 

 

And like all things, eventually Brock pulled something that pissed Jack off to the point of no return. The dumbass had decided that it would a great idea to dye cotton balls in different shades of pink, wet them and adhere them via freezing to his baby. His 1970 shovelhead Harley, that Jack had spent 4 years restoring out of his own pocket.  The shit had not only defiled it, but had broken into Jack’s garage to take the bike out of it and then left it outside! And so Jack very carefully started to plot the prank that would end this little fucking war of theirs. By the time he was done Brock would be crying ‘Uncle’.

 

One month, six days, seventeen hours, and thirty four minutes later, Jack watched from a safe distance as Brock, with the Asset trailing behind him walked up to medical room that specially designated for the Winter Soldier after missions. He watched as Brock strode forward, a few steps ahead, nothing but arrogance radiating off of him. He watched as he confidently grabbed the door handle, and wrenched it open without a single care of what might be behind it. He laughed as hundreds of balloons fell down onto the cocky little peacock ( and consequently the poor asset. Jack actually felt a little bad about that part). He downright starting doubling over, and cackling as the latex burst over top of them, spewing the oil based paint he had carefully funnelled into them, all over the two men.  He damn near blacked out from not breathing properly when Brock fell down flailing, taking one of techs with him. The piece ‘de resistance however was when Brock realized what kind of paint it was, and started to tear up, because he was going to have to use turpentine on his precious hair to get out the splashes of red, white, and of course blue. 

* * *

      “ Training exercise,Sir.” Jack stated, keeping his face blank and his voice sure.

“Training exercise?” The older man repeated disbelievingly. Clearly not buying Jack’s bullshit, but giving him a chance to try and lie his way out of the situation. He already knew that he couldn’t get rid of them as they were an essential part of a top notch team, and he just wasn’t willing to risk results at this point. 

“ Yes Sir, the point being to test the awareness,reflexes and response time of all parties in the event of a sneak attack upon headquarters.”

Pierce folded his hands underneath his chin and leveled Jack with a glare before sighing in exasperation.

“Get out of my office.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> Come and Stalk me on Tumblr! I'm neutralchaos915 over there ^^


End file.
